Prayers
by InsertSmartPenNameHere
Summary: C is for contracts, but S is for sacrifice. Manga-verse SebaCiel. Part four of four: And then there was the pounding of his own heart, that easily overshadowed everything else.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: If I owned Kuroshitsuji? Hoh, boy.**

A/N: So this has been a work in progress for quite some time now, just because I promised myself I wouldn't publish any series until it was all finished. Considering my track record of abandoned fics, I'd say this method works rather well, no? Well, I finally decided to get off my lazy ass and finish this today (when, really, I should have been studying for Physics. Oh, well), so here it is. I do have a few other fic ideas kicking around in my head right now, but nothing concrete yet. You'll find that ideas coalesce in my mind with much difficulty.

Some warnings: 1) Shotacon, althogh you really shouldn't be surprised at this. It _is _Kuroshitsuji, after all. 2) Religious themes. When I wrote this, it wasn't intended to take a particular position on religion in general, and it certainly wasn't intended to offend anyone.

Don't forget to review!

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><p><strong>I. God is mighty.<strong>

Sometimes, for lack of a better distraction, Ciel liked to think of the past.

"_Now, darling," His mother would croon, and her voice would be soft, perfect, velvet like an _angel_'s. Her touch would be light and her smile would be beautiful, because fantasies of a bedtime routine that was no more needn't have any imperfection. "We must pray." _

_And he would. Tiny fingers would clasp together like a mesh of spider webs, warm hands would press against a warmer forehead and closed eyes in obedience but no real sincerity. He would whisper meaningless words, sweet nothings with a practiced tongue, match the rises and falls of his mother's voice and stopping when he hears them no more. _

"_Do you remember the rhyme?" She would ask, and he would nod along eagerly, because that's what seven-year-olds do. "Good. You can say it then, and I'll follow you." She would whisper playfully, as though fearful of someone overhearing. _

The iron of bars and shackles and blood (and god-knew-what-else) sliced through his veil of fantasy like a well-sharpened knife, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the heavy thudding of familiar boots neared him.

_-and he squeezes his eyes shut in concentration as his mother would look on with a smile__._

"_And now I lay me down to sleep,_

There was a myriad of clanking and suddenly his feet were in the air, arms supported by a brute force he could recognize in his sleep. He didn't bother opening his eyes to follow the same path he had always followed, down the filthy hallways to the filthy room with the filthy people and their filthy _touch-_

His back met a cool, flat surface, and around him excited murmurs rose from the darkness. There were fingers on him, on every inch of him, but he didn't squirm anymore; one particular pair forced his eyelids open, nearly taking out his eye in the process.

"Hand me the brand."

He could now connect blurry covered faces to sounds, and it was a little fat man with grey hair coming out of the sides of his mask who spoke.

The order caused quite a stirrup in the rest of the crowd of what seemed like thousands. All heads turned in the same direction, as if a massive tidal wave had overtaken them. They were passing something around, he could hear the metal of whatever-it-was slapping against the flesh of one hand after another. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to care.

A sudden hush fell over the room as the object neared, and the sound of metal-on-flesh slowed until it became barely a crawling procession playing in the recesses of his mind. There was one last ominous slap, and he barely had time to register it before he felt heat nearing his side and something was pressed against his skin.

Then he opened his mouth and screamed, and everything had gone to hell after that.

_I pray the Lord my soul to keep.__"_

It was like living a waking dream; hands, arms, breaths, and voices everywhere, sights and sounds and sensations mixing together in a cacophony of horror and confusion. The feeling was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, unlike his wildest nightmares and daydreams. This feeling of hopelessness, abandonment.

So this was what hell felt like.

"Please…" He found himself whispering, his own scratched and hoarse voice entirely inaudible over the deafening chanting of the room's inhabitants.

Somewhere in the crevices of his mind (the parts that weren't completely occupied by the screaming and the thrashing and _oh, the burning!_), he wondered if this was some sort of poetic justice. God's personal punishment, perhaps, for all his years of faked faithfulness and phony prayers.

What a merciless God He was then, to hold a seven year old child to his word, as a judgment of life or death, no less.

Ciel heard himself draw in a deep, ragged breath, forcing himself calm amidst the chaos, but found that even this little chest movement caused his burn to send a ripple of agony through his midriff. Closing his eyes again, he prayed (to some other, _any_ other deity) for consciousness to leave him.

But then there was the chanting, all around him and inside him.

"_If I should die before I wake,__"_

One by one, he began to say his goodbyes.

First to his family. His dearly departed parents who would always be there to comfort and protect from whatever demons that plagued his dreams. He thought of the way Vincent's collar-bone felt under his head when his would fall asleep in his father's arms. He thought of Rachel's orange-cream locks between his fingers as his mother held him with the most undeniable laugh on her face.

And when he tried to think of the mirrored expression on his, he found that he couldn't. Again and again he would picture his own jubilant expression, but again and again the face in his vision would be blank. As though someone had taken a wet dishtowel and wiped his features clean off like they were stains on his mother's favorite white tablecloth.

The images played on a loop in his head like a silent movie, and he heard the preaching of an aging priest, presiding over his parents' funeral (the one he never got to attend). Then he imagined his own ceremony, lying in a silk-donned coffin listening to the muffled words of those above. He listened to them speak of his parents, his wonderful, loving parents whose acts of kindness and achievements would not soon be forgotten.

When they got to him, of course, there was nothing to say, because he had been naught but a child. He let out a little laugh at the thought that even in death he only ever existed in shadows, be they his parents' or otherwise.

Then quietly but resolutely, while the blank faces of days and years gone by raced behind his eyes, he realized that he did not want to let go.

"… _Something wrong, darling?" _He felt her lingering breath against his face_ as her fingers would comb through his hair absentmindedly. _

And he breathed out, too. _"No, I'm alright. I just need a moment to gather my thoughts." His face would glow pink in embarrassment as he would rack his brain for that misplaced phrase, the last one that would always, inadvertently, slip from his mind._

Her laughter rang in his ears.

"_Do you not remember, sweetheart? Would you like me to remind you?" _Her memory had been just as good as her intentions; if only the road to hell wasn't paved with such.

"No, no!" _He would groan _(and he groaned) _"I can remember! I'll think really hard about it!" Then he would repeat the rhyme under his breath, to try and draw out the last portion from his subconscious, somehow. _

"_And now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake… if I should die before I wake… I… I pray…" His face would light up with joy when he finally remembers. _

But in all his glory and triumph, he could only whisper:_ "I pray the Lord my soul to-"_

"Save me."

And somewhere, in the unforgiving darkness below, _something was listening._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji. Duh.**

A/N: THESE CHAPTERS ARE IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER, BUT THEY DON'T HAPPEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER ONE ANOTHER. For example, this one occurs at least a good six months after the previous one. So if you were hoping to read about Ciel and Sebastian meeting each other for the first time, sorry. I will, however, attempt to make it up to you by way of some lemony shota. Oh, you know you love it.

Warnings: 1) Shotacon, once again. I probably should have placed the warning here instead of the last chapter, but there you go. 2) Time lapses. See paragraph above. 3) And religious themes, again. Please please please keep in mind that the views expressed in this fic (especially in this chapter) are not intended to offend.

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><p><strong>II. God is small.<strong>

"Sebastian."

The black-clad butler took a moment from the tea set at his hands, giving his little lord a lightly questioning hum. The time for afternoon tea drew nigh, and the demon had taken the liberty of bringing his master's snack into the office, as the Phantomhive heir had been shut up in here working non-stop for the past week.

But now the boy had put down his pen and was resting his face in his hand, his azure stare drilling into the other's auburn one. "There was something… that I wanted to ask." He began tapping the tip of his pen against the (so far) unblemished surface of the desk, making a hollow thud that was sure to damage the expensive wood.

"Young Master, I must insist that you stop." The older man crooned softly, shifting his attention back to the pot of tea he was preparing. "I imagine the fellows at Stanley Rule and Level are quite tired of sending us new tables overseas, at this point." The young Earl remained silent as Sebastian poured just the right volume of water at just the right temperature, and add just the right number of sugar cubes.

"So you're that worried about the table?" The boy mused as his butler busied himself over the tea set. "What if…"

"Hm?" The tinkling of china filled his ears so that his master's words rose to barely above a murmur.

"What if it was me, then?"

The spoon between his fingers fell with a harmonious tinkle (that sounded like a thunderous roar) against the inside of the tea cup, the deep orange liquid inside left to swirl itself into motionlessness. The weight of the question hung heavily in the air, seemingly grabbing the silence in a stranglehold. "I beg your pardon?" the devil tried, raising an eyebrow of well-practiced surprise at his master.

The young Phantomhive in question said nothing in return, only tapped the tip of his pen against the table a final ominous time. Then, without the slightest expression or hesitance, he brought his hand up against and let the fountain tip crash into the back of his hand.

His blood ran red and black.

Sebastian was at his tamer's side in an instant, coxing the pen from the child's white grip and scarlet flesh. The butler's eyes narrowed at the sight of the oozing wound, and in another instant he was re-entering the room with a metal box in hand.

Ciel looked on with complete disinterest as the older man withdrew supplies from the box to clean, wrap, and dress his wound, all the while with an expression akin to pity etched into his pretty face. He waited until the other had finished to speak, holding up his hand for examination, "How did this happen, I wonder?"

The demon gave the boy a square look, but was not smiling. "It's really rather simple, my lord. You used your pen to-"

"Don't be a simpleton, Sebastian." The eleven year old snapped. "You could've stopped me, could you not?"

"I'm afraid I-"

"And yet you did not." Ciel fixed him with a blatantly challenging stare, as though tempting the Sebastian to give an unsatisfying answer. "Why is that?"

But as any human should know, it was foolish to tempt a demon. "You see," he stood from his kneeling position only to bend his back again and put himself face to face with his young charge, wearing a serpentine (a _daredevil_) smile. "Humans never do learn anything without hands-on experience."

For a moment the child's eyes flashed in anger. "Why, the nerve-!" A second later he appeared to be catching up with his emotions, harnessing himself back to the poised visage every gentleman was to possess. "What was that supposed to teach me, then? That pen-tips are sharp?"

"I daresay the lesson is one my lord should know already; they really do exhaust the concept in Sunday services. '_Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body._'"

"Leviticus?"

"Corinthians."

"Ridiculous."

"Does my lord jest the words of God?"

And the little Earl jested right back. "Funny you should talk of God."

Sebastian nodded along. "Indeed." He raised a gloved finger between their faces, the boy almost going cross-eyed at the sight of it. "But just because I am unable to worship, does not, by any means, imply that you should not, my lord. Faith does build character, after all."

Ciel's laugh was full of scorn and scoff. "And what would you know of character?"

"Quite a bit. I've lived an awfully long time, you see."

The young Phantomhive let out an irritated little "che" at the irrefutable statement, but composed himself for a new argument immediately afterward. "And anyway, I refuse to believe in a supposedly all-encompassing being whose only real role seems to be luring people into worshipping him."

"That may be an unwise thing to say, my lord." Sebastian's tone was one of warning, but his expression was practically egging the other on.

Ciel frowned upon seeing the paradox. "I'll say anything I damned well wish, thank you." The child's hand moved to finger the blue diamond on his thumb, almost as if reminiscing. "If this 'Lord' were real, where was He when my parents died? Where was He, when thousands of others prayed for him? The mere fact that I was forced to save myself by contracting with the Devil should be evidence enough of His non-existence."

The butler merely straightened up and made his way back to the chilling tea he'd prepared earlier. Shame that all this work had to go to waste. "Am I right to assume, then, that you are not grateful?"

"Grateful?" The little lord let out a sound that bordered on a giggle. "I thought I told you not to be a simpleton. If anything, I'd like to spite God; somehow show Him that I've lived perfectly well without His help."

The clandestine grin was back on the demon's face as he approached the door with the tray in his hands. "Indeed you have, my lord."

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><p>"Sebastian, kiss me."<p>

There weren't many things that could shock one who had lived for who-knew-how-many millennia, but for a full ten seconds, the demon just stared. His hands hung frozen in the air, in the middle of tying the last button of his master's night shirt. "…Sir?" He asked, looking at the boy who was wearing a flushed but resolute expression.

At this, Ciel assumed a face of iron and steel, conviction resonating from every pore. "Did I stutter? This is an order, Sebastian. Kiss me." The boy twitched a little when his butler remained firmly in place. "Now, dammit! Before I change my mi-"

But Sebastian's mouth was already on his with an inquiring sort of demand and a timid sort of ferocity. Lips lilted and lowered, tongues twisted and turned, and soon Ciel was no longer perched on the edge of the bed, but hitting the bed sheets with his back, his butler on top of him. The older man moved to devour his charge's neck when the boy came up for air, painting the silence of the bedroom in a layer of pants, gasps and whines. As gloved hands popped the buttons those very same ones had carefully done up minutes earlier, Ciel's arms wrapped around and clung to the other's neck enticingly, almost desperately. Soon, the carpeted floor was littered with discarded garments, but the pair on the bed too clouded and dazed to notice the mess.

"Young master?" Sebastian managed to free his mouth via replacement with his hands, pinching and exploring every inch of creamy skin. "I must ask. Why the sudden interest in such pleasures of the flesh?"

The reply that came was spoken with much difficulty. "Does it- ah! Does it really matter?"

"I want to be sure that you're certain about this." Said the devil in a smooth and sultry tone that suggested he didn't really care at all. "This could very well be considered blasphemy."

A dark chuckle escaped the little Phantomhive's lips, cutting through the darkness. "Ju…just shut up and g-get on with it."

A flash of bleeding claret in the demon's eyes, a toothy leer on his mouth, and suddenly there was an understanding. "Very well, young master." Hands found hands just as hips found hips, rubbing and grinding and sparkling up a hellfire of cardinal sins and earthly pleasures. Ciel's usually commanding tone was reducing to scores of gentle mewls so reminiscent of the cat that roamed the back gardens, and Sebastian couldn't help but widen his grin at this. "If you'll relax and notice, it's rather like dancing, my lord." Back met chest and fingers intertwined. "Although since your skills in that respect leave much to be desired," Positions aligned, poised and ready. "I suggest you follow my lead."

They started to the beat of a waltz, body parts and bedsprings keeping perfect time with each other; creak, bite, moan, creak, bite, moan. Muscles tensed and relaxed in a consistent rhythm, and in between the young earl's whispers of _oh _and _more _and _yes, there! _, the demon inside him just smirked.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?"

Somehow a growl made its way out in between the groans and gasps. "I thought… I told you to sh- ahn! shut up?"

Sebastian took a thoughtful pause in his ministrations then, "Oh dear. Are you not finding my company agreeable, my lord?"

But upon hearing the thinly veiled desperation in a demand of "Don't you _dare _stop!", the devil was only more than happy to oblige. And as the smaller male let out a final hoarse cry before allowing himself fall back onto the bed, a sigh of contentment leaving his lips, Sebastian simply sat and watched the little creature with fascination in his eyes. How deliciously interesting, humans were.

"Well, I think _He's _sufficiently horrified." The butler pointed out, gesturing with his head at the ceiling.

"…Sebastian?"

"Yes, young master?"

Ciel flipped himself over onto his back, and stared at the demon full on. "Do you remember yesterday, when I said I wanted to ask you something in my office?"

In reply, the (much, much) older man ran a single finger along the boy's jaw-line, his black lacquered nail leaving behind a trail of ice against the other's heated skin. "Ask away."

"When the terms of our contract are fulfilled, you're entitled to take my soul."

Sebastian blinked, "Yes, that was what we agreed upon."

Ciel seemed to be having trouble getting these next words out, "So what happens… after?"

"You'll have to be more specific."

Thin lips pursed into a straight line on the boy's face. "What happens to my soul after you've consumed it?" Then, as if on an afterthought, he added, "And you can't lie to me, I've told you not to." The barely-grown child's authority was unmistakable, and Sebastian pondered this with amusement.

"Are you sure you want to know? The truth may be far from pleasant." A determined nod from one, a sigh of resignation from the other. "Very well. When a demon consumes a soul, this action prevents the soul from ascending into the afterlife, to heaven or hell." Ciel listened with an utmost attention as if hearing an enthralling fairytale. Which, in a way, it was. "To put it simply, a soul that has been eaten by a demon will be suspended in limbo inside said demon for the rest of eternity, unable to move on."

"So you're saying that being eaten by a devil will make me immortal?"

Sebastian raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes. I suppose I am."

The young demon tamer, in return, only stared straight upwards into the ceiling (but seeing beyond it into the heavens) with a triumphant smirk. "Good."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji, as impossible as that may sound *insert sarcasm here***

A/N: Meh... not much to say about this one, really. Thanks to all of you who reviewed/favorited/alerted this fic, your guys make my life.

Warnings: 1) Time lapse. Ciel is a teenager in this one. 2) Minor character death. It's really more about the impact of the event than the death itself. 3) Implied shotacon... heh heh.

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><p><strong>III. God is cruel.<strong>

They say the last great celebration of a person's life was their funeral. But as fifteen year old Ciel Phantomhive stood (with the appropriate amount of rigidity, of course) in front of a white marble tombstone on a dreary Thursday afternoon, with bells in the distance tolling the countdown to the final hour, he knew this to be anything but so. For the somber procession playing out in front of him could not have been less characteristic of the person for whom it was performed.

Because even in death, Elizabeth Middleford radiated an energy that could never have been suppressed by the weight of world.

Seeing his fiancée laid out calmly and prettily inside the little coffin, surrounded by all this doom and gloom, Ciel had to bite back the urge to laugh. Her lemon meringue ringlets, usually tightly wound and bouncing, rest pressed and flat around her head. There were no frills on her, no lace, no bows, only a simple and contained while nightgown, as if anyone could've been fooled into thinking she was actually sleeping. Nothing about the black-clad crowd, the droning priest, or the fine mist of rain soaking everyone to the bone was what she would've wanted. After all, there was hardly anything "cute" about quiet burials and tears mixing with rain.

"Young master."

Ciel tore his gaze away from Lizzie as her casket was closed and lowered into the dirt. The priest was giving closing words, and the attendees had begun to depart, although not without offering obligatory condolences to the family. He looked on with a weary eye.

"Perhaps we should take our leave as well."

"Remember, Sebastian. You are not to interfere."

"Yes, sir."

The fifteen year old let out a long breath and nodded, making his way toward three particular figures in black with his butler in tow; he reached them just as the last of the crowd thinned out into empty space. He braced himself for the ordeal that was sure to come and as he neared them, three pairs of eyes, each with a burden of its own, shifted to focus on his face.

"Marquis," The first pair were oddly vacant, as though so full yet so empty at the same time. "I offer you my deepest condolences." It was all very well orchestrated; his hat was lowered at the right angle, his hair arranged to cover part of his eyes in a way that would convey sorrow and remorse (two things, mind you, that weren't entirely pretend).

For all intents and purposes, the man could only manage a stiff little nod in Ciel's general direction, eyes fixed onto a point somewhere over the boy's head.

"I want you to know that Elizabeth was truly-"

But suddenly the teenager felt hands grasping at his collar, nearly choking the breath out of him. "How dare you," the new-coming blonde hissed into his face. "How _dare_ you talk about her?" His jaded eyes flashed, mirror-like, for a moment; or it might've been because of the tears welling up their corners. "If it wasn't for you-!" The other seemed unable to speak anymore.

Ciel gave another small sigh. "I know you believe I'm at fault here, and I won't say you're completely wrong, but-"

The elder male let out a cry of hysteria that echoed through the wide open space like bells, fixing the Earl of Phantomhive with a maddening glare. "After all this, you still argue? You still defend your twisted excuse for existence even after it's cost your fiancée her _li-_"

"Edward."

A hand came to rest on the young man's shoulder, and he promptly loosened his grip on Ciel, leaving him with a shove that sent him staggering back into Sebastian. The dark-haired adolescent quickly straightened and composed himself to face the final character of the ensemble.

"I must apologize on behalf of my son, Earl Phantomhive." Marchioness Middleford and the air of order and severity she carried with her seemed oddly in contrast with the rest of her family, which was admittedly troubling. There was little of the vitality and passion her son possessed, but much more of something else. "I'm sure this day is quite… difficult. For all of us." She struggled through the conversation, taking in a gasping breath to compose herself in the middle of her sentence. The corners of her mouth remained dixedly drawn toward the bottom of her face, despite her earlier words of understanding; the woman was walking contradiction. As much as she denied it to herself and as much as her head knew otherwise, she blamed him, too.

And Ciel could hardly blame _her_ for it. "Quite." He paid special attention to focusing his gaze on the Marchioness only, carefully avoiding the poisoned daggers Edward was shooting at him from the side. "Elizabeth was an exquisite lady; she'll be missed by myself and countless others."

For half a second he thought he saw his former mother-in-law's upper lip tremble; but the minute movement was gone before he had time to dismiss it as a figure of his imagination. "Thank you, Earl."

The teenager worked up one last nod of acknowledgement before he beckoned to Sebastian behind him, and the two strode away from the procession. The only sound breaking the contemplative silence between them was the thud-thudding of Ciel's walking stick against moist concrete. At a fork in the path the servant stopped while the child continued on.

"Young Master?" He called, "The carriage is this way."

The Earl didn't stop. "I'll be taking a short walk, Sebastian. Wait for me at the coach." Watching his young lord walk away with an unusual sense of urgency in his feet, the demon couldn't help but smile a little.

"Yes, my Lord."

And when Ciel came back fifteen minutes later, hat in his hands and face streaked with what could (_only_) have been rain, he obediently helped his master into the carriage, saying nothing.

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><p>It always started the same way.<p>

He had been sitting faced toward the window this time, watching the steady droplets of water throw themselves against the glass pane. They made a pathetic little pitter-patter that, no matter how long he waited or how hard he listened, offered none of the answers he was looking for. They seemed only to echo endlessly throughout the all-too-silent mansion. Now that Elizabeth was gone, he had officially become the only living presence in the sordid place; the only human presence, anyway.

The sound of the door behind him opening with a near-silent creak was ignored, as were the footfalls that entered soon after. "Young Master, it's time for you to retire."

Excuses, excuses. His butler was full of them. As if the devil really needed any justification for all the things he did.

Acknowledging the other's statement with a hum, Ciel shifted his weight in the chair and propped his face up with his right hand, waiting. Waiting as he looked into the blackness outside for the hands that would surely come, any second now. A stifling few seconds passed in between, in which neither of the pair moved.

"Young Master?"

The teenager watched his reflection in the window twist into a frown of annoyance. "Alright, I'm coming." Slowly (but not altogether reluctantly), Ciel rose from his seat and followed his servant down familiar dimmed halls, finally arriving in his darkened bedroom, all the while absentmindedly following the dull orange glow from the candle in Sebastian's hand. The teenager sat himself properly on the mattress, while his servant kneeled in front of him and made short work of his shoelaces.

"Are you quite alright, Young Master?" The stillness of the room made Sebastian's murmur sound as soft as thunder.

The young nobleman regarded his butler with an air of impatient disdain. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

The demon hummed in agreement as gloved fingers moved to the buttons of this jacket. "Oh, nothing in particular, just that… today must have been hard for you." When Ciel looked down at the older man, all he saw was the crown of his head, bent in concentration of undoing the last button.

"That's no concern of yours, Sebastian."

Said servant chuckled. "Forgive me." Chilled air met his skin as his clothing, piece by piece, slid off his shoulders and legs; Ciel shivered for a few seconds before his nightshirt, guided by white-covered hands, slipped over his limbs like a well-worn blanket. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of fabric against fabric as Sebastian put the garment in order.

Soon. It was coming very soon. There would be a signal, whether it be the butler's breath suddenly tickling his ear, or the feeling of fingers lingering on his neck perhaps a moment too long. But he could always tell.

"If you'd be so kind as to get into bed, my Lord." Ciel opened his eyes in surprise to see the demon walking over to the bedside table and picking up his candle-holder. He blinked. Then blinked again.

"You're not going to… stay?"

Sebastian paused, turning his head to give his lord an amused expression. "I didn't realize the Young Master has grown so attached to my… doings."

Pale cheeks flashed scarlet as the young Phantomhive placed himself under the covers angrily, refusing to meet the other's eyes. "Nonsense!"

"If you say so, my lord."

"Sebastian, wait." The command came small and muffled from the folds of his master's pillow, shrouded in shadows.

"Yes, young master?"

A short and desecrating silence. An eerie line silver shone through the crack between the curtains, laying a sliver of moonshine on Ciel's bed. "Do you remember a conversation we had, many years ago?" The black-bathed butler stepped to his tamer's side, the candlelight coating the bed in copper. "I asked what would happen to my soul after…" Here, a breath to steady himself. "After the terms of our contract have been fulfilled?" He did not keep his eyes on his servant to look for a reaction.

"Yes, milord."

"What happens, then, if people die naturally?"

"I hardly think that information's relevant, sir."

Ciel glared at the other with piercing sapphires. "Do you want me to make that an order?"

The demon kneeled down to face his charge, hands hosting over the teenager's face. "Of course not, young master. What sort of butler would I be if I couldn't answer my master's inquiries?" The gloved fingers moved to sift through tresses of dark hair absentmindedly. "When humans perish without being devoured, their souls are simply destroyed. They cease to exist."

His employer drew in a sharp breath, as though made to calm himself at the mounting anticipation. "So they're released from life?" A sad little smile played on the Phantomhive's lips. "They're set free."

If Ciel's eyes were on his servant at the time, he would've seen Sebastian's expression change. The surprise flitted across the devil's face for only a moment before being replaced with his usual mask of amused indifference. "That's certainly one way to consider it."

"Sebastian…" The young Earl turned over onto his back and closed his eyes, fingering the silver-encased blue diamond on his thumb. He had stopped removing it some time ago, for the screams of ghosts long gone never left his head, even without the ring. His ancestors, his servants, his fiancée; their moans and wails filled his head and nearly drove him mad. "I'm tired," He whispered to his sole companion, "I'm so very tired."

A moment of what he hoped to be quiet comprehension. "Then I shall leave you to sleep, Young Master."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All I own is the (kind of ill conceived) plot of this here fanfiction. Nothing else, so stop asking.

A/N: The final installment, folks. This part was written in one quick sitting, so I'm still not too happy with the ending. But it'll do. Fans of this little mini-series (however few of you there may be XP) can look forward to some other Kuro fics I have planned for the future, although again, I can't promise anyone any specific dates, cause I'm a terrible person/procrastinator. On another note, does anyone know a place I can watch/download the Kuroshitsuji Musicals (cause I think there's more than one now) with subtitles? I'm a sad person who doesn't understand Japanese, you know.

Warnings: 1) Time lapse, as always. I envisioned this chapter to occur... probably no more than a year after the previous one, but it could work longer. 2) Religious themes. This time it should be at least a little redeeming, although how you take it is ultimately up to you.

Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

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><p><strong>IV. God is merciful.<strong>

Twilight.

The French called it _l'heure bleue_, the blue hour; a time after sunset and before sunrise, when everything from the blades of grass upon the earth to the brazen rocks atop the highest mountain bathed in a sea of azure. There was little to be seen or heard apart from blurred black shadows of creatures of the night, and a slow, steady drumming that was pounding into his eardrums.

Ciel Phantomhive sat, a figure cloaked in cerulean, listening to the beating of his own heart. Counting down.

The loudness of his own heartbeat was greatly annoying the Earl of Phantomhive; this was a time, the only time, in fact, he gave himself to think about death. For the topic was one he seldom had the luxury to explore. There were nights, plenty of them as of late, where he dreamt of hellfires and pitchforks and a world dyed red, and he found himself waking up with a smile on his face.

But now, he noted duly, the _ba-bump, ba-bump_ of the damned muscle in his chest gave little room for much thinking at all. It was as if his body knew of the night he was going to have, and was now forcing him to pay attention. _Listen well, now, lad. You haven't got many of these left. _

Ciel swiveled his chair away from the window, surveying his drawing room. He had ordered Sebastian to clean up properly in here earlier, so the moonlight illuminated the dustless surfaces eerily, a picture perfect memory befitting one as damned as he was. The only thing exempt from the spotlessness was the old chess board sitting on the desk in front of him.

The thing had been untouched for months, now, but in truth he'd stopped playing the game long before that; now on the board laid a field that was quite impossible in practical terms, but he paid that no heed. The black side, behind which he was currently sitting, was left with a lone King and his Knight, while all pieces of the white side remained in their original posts, as if the game had not yet started. On a little pile beside the board laid the corpses of discarded black pieces. Ciel hardly gave the pointed crown of his long dead queen a glance before returning his gaze to the board.

Faraway, in some forgotten corner of the mansion, the grandfather clock chimed quietly, three times. With a readiness in his limbs that even surprised himself, the young Phantomhive picked up the black knight, feeling the fine layer of dust on it as he did so.

"Let's see now…" He murmured to no one in particular, scanning the board with poised eyes. "The guards'll be first." With a tilted head he began to knock over the white pawns, one by one, brushing each completely off the board before starting on the next. "The paranoid old fool has so many of them." He stated, as the last pawn was sent buried in the graveyard.

"Next will be the bootboys, milkmaids, cook, manservant…" The rooks and bishops went down, in clatters louder than the pawns entirely.

"The children." His hand hovered over the knights, "They'll have to go before, of course; it's merciful to spare them the rest of the sight." With a little tip, they fell, and were quickly ushered away.

There was a glint in Ciel's eye now, as he drew near what he knew to be the climax. "The Countess." With a clack that sounded more like a bang, the queen fell askew beside her king.

"And the grand finale."

A final, resounding crash, and only black was left standing. The young man smiled.

Right on cue, there came a knock on his door. With a nod, Ciel raised the knight again and knocked the black king over, not bothering to clear the carcass away. After all, that was a formality he feared he could no longer afford. He turned his back to the room once more. "Enter."

"Young master, I have returned."

The moon was ghastly white tonight, he thought. "It has been done?"

There was no time for hesitation before the reply came, "As per your orders, my lord, the entire household of the Count of Brisbane has been eliminated."

"Good." He opened his mouth to say something else, but found he had nothing to say, so he repeated, "Good." As he heard the footsteps behind him near, he breathed a deep breath. "I am a man of my word, Sebastian; you may claim your prize." He bit his bottom lip and steeled himself for the immortalization of his soul.

Sebastian's head blocked the moon from his view as the butler stood tall and mirthless over him. Leaning in to press a devil's departing kiss to his neck, the demon whispered in his ear. "Are you afraid, young master?"

The young Phantomhive put his head back as Sebastian nibbled at his earlobe, wrapping his arms instinctively around his butler's neck. "No…" he whispered back, "Just… tired."

He felt the devil's smile stretch, lips moving soundlessly against his skin. "I know you are."

"Hm." There was a long slice of silence after he hummed in reply, before Sebastian spoke again.

"Would you like to say a prayer, before you sleep, my lord?"

And an eternally restless slumber would follow, indeed. He gave a nod, closing his eyes.

"I invite you to start, young master."

As Ciel opened his mouth, he was made painfully aware of his heart, pounding more furiously than ever. "And now I lay me down to sleep,"

Of course he did. He was the very one who'd agreed, with hatred as his fuel and revenge as his prize, to strike up such a Faustian deal. And thus it was he, and no other, who eventually had to pay the price. He wasn't blind enough as of yet to not see this.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

But it was the devil who would keep his soul now. Now, he'd be left spending forever and a day pondering about the heaven or hell he never got to see, the vague wonderment of what it would feel like to simply stop existing.

He could feel Sebastian's bated breath, enticingly warm against his mouth.

"If I should die before I wake,"

Death seemed like a far-off daydream, a fantastical daydream of freedom he'd sold off long ago. Every expansion and contraction of his heart made Ciel feel like it was going to jump right out of his chest, as though daring him to make it stop.

"I… I pray…"

Air stopped and caught halfway in his throat, and as he tried to choke out his words he felt Sebastian's fingers burying themselves in his hair, in almost a comforting sort of way. The butler was so close when he supplied the words that Ciel could feel every muscle movement against his own lips. The demon sounded angelic as he breathed, "I pray the Lord my soul to take."

The blood pounding in his ears escalated to block out everything else when the older man's lips met his. There was a dull ache blooming in his chest as his last breath hitched in his lungs.

_What the…?_

Widened sapphire eyes met crimson ones. A revelation. Spatter against his cheek. A tiny movement of the corner of his lips. And then he was no more.

* * *

><p>Soundlessly the demon stood. He reached over to the chess board on the desk and gently swept the fallen king away. Bending back down, he joined their lips for the briefest of moments, setting the heart in his hands down on the young Phantomhive's lap.<p>

"Good night, young master."


End file.
